


Sixty-four Days in the Sandbox

by Nevcolleil



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Dry Humping, Kinky, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: A collection of altercations between Sergeant Jack Dalton and Specialist Angus MacGyver during Dalton's last sixty-four days in Afghanistan. (Yes, let's call them 'altercations'. 'Arguments' involve less sex; 'affairs' involve less banter. And as for 'a fling'... Well. That's not how all of this ends.)





	Sixty-four Days in the Sandbox

The first time it happens, they don't even speak.

Well. They don't speak about _that_.

They yell a lot. They always seem to be yelling, even when they're in mixed company and all they can do is grit their teeth and glare at one another. Then their eyes yell for them - Jack like an angry, ~~intimidating~~ impatient child; Mac with a scorn that he hopes is heard above this unshakeable chagrin that has dogged him since the day they met.

He wants to say he's sorry, as much as he wants to shake his head at the insinuation that _he_ has anything to say he's sorry for. He wants to say that he shouldn't have touched Dalton's rifle - that he knows he can be a little bit... much sometimes, for some people. ( ~~For most people~~.) That he spends every second of every day thinking, overthinking, rethinking - being tasked by his country to do so - but that sometimes Mac just doesn't _think_. Not like other people. Sometimes he's so focused on the complex beginning or end to a problem, he overlooks the all too simple middle.

Every time he's ever tried, Jack has said something first that made the words curdle and mutate in Mac's mouth, into something snarky and defensive (and occasionally even a little mean.) 

Only this time, Jack chases those words with his tongue, and it changes everything.

Well.

It changes something in Mac.

Or maybe the crash of Jack's mouth onto his just unleashes things Mac had only been pretending weren't already there - like an awareness of the perfect height and expanse of Dalton's shoulders, not so high nor so wide that Mac feels threatened, but tall enough and broad enough that Mac can't forget the potential threat that Dalton's size and strength present. (Can't forget how it felt to have that strength used against him, pinning him down - testing his own resistance, and tossing him wherever Jack wanted him when he gave even just a little. If not for the violence of Dalton's fists in the meantime, Mac would have found their altercation exhilarating.)

And the strong angle of Dalton's jaw beneath that perpetual scruff - a look like the man himself, effortlessly and carelessly masculine; the handsome lines of Dalton's face... Mac has teased his overwatch about being old more than once (more than is kind - a lame but surprisingly effective counterpoint to Dalton's many digs at Mac's youth) but Dalton is basically in the prime of his life, from what Mac can see. Hard in ways that even Mac, who works to stay in peak physical fitness, is still somewhat soft; thick with muscle where Mac is what Dalton calls 'scrawny'. 

Nevermind that he'd wanted to smack the man's ~~infuriatingly sexy~~ infuriating mouth just two seconds ago - when Dalton kisses Mac, it's as if whatever they'd been fighting about (Mac's already forgotten) hadn't even happened - as if the last few weeks never were.

Mac kisses back, and when Dalton takes his reciprocation as a que to press in further, kiss Mac deeper - bring their bodies together and his hands up to frame Mac's face, to hold Mac steady amidst the onslaught - instead of pressing back like Mac always does when Dalton pushes him, Mac just... folds. He opens up his mouth for Jack's tongue, softens into Jack's embrace - accepts Dalton's body pressed so tightly against his own as if of course - _of course_ this is how their bodies should be arranged when within promixity. This close always.

Dalton makes a sound - an honest-to-god _growl_ \- at the back of his throat, and when Mac feels a response in his groin, not his funny bone (because, come on - animal noises are exactly the kind of thing Mac should have expected, and exactly the kind of thing he would normally make fun of Dalton for) Mac realizes just how much he's been pretending and for how long. Mac's half hard, and after just one kiss, a touch to his face, and that sound.

It takes a moment for him to also realize that the delicious friction he receives when Dalton's hips and his collide is a result of _him_ bucking up against Jack.

Mac's officially taken... whatever caused Jack to kiss him and escalated the situation by, like, sixty-three degrees. So much for playing hard to get.

Not that Dalton seems at all interested in that, as he follows Mac's lead with a fervor that feels damned near grateful for the initiation. He bucks back, and- Oh. _Hello._ Mac is _not_ the only one reacting intensely and immediately to their physical contact. Mac's just not sure how to describe the sound that _he_ makes as the implications hit him.

They don't kiss for very long - and _not_ because either of them get tired of it. The distance between Mac 's back and the nearest flat surface behind him - the closest wall of the tiny, abandoned hovel he and Jack had ducked into so they wouldn't be seen arguing by the locals out in the street - disappears quickly, and Mac barely feels it when they make impact with that wall, too focused on shedding tac and helping Jack shed his own. Jack's hands, suddenly free, reach down for the meatiest part of the backs of Mac's thighs.

At first, Dalton doesn't do anything else, although his mouth is still moving - from twisting on top of Mac's, his tongue writhing against Mac's in a way that makes Mac feel too hot and shiver all at once - to sliding down Mac's throat. His hands just still. And for a split second, Mac notices and worries that Jack is beginning to pull away, to back off. He can feel Dalton's continued interest in him - can feel it growing, actually, _impressively_ \- but if Jack's changed his mind about that being worth getting this mixed up with his EOD tech...

Then Dalton taps the back of Mac's knees, and Mac realizes that he's been waiting for Mac to accommodate the way he's been wedging his boots between the both of Mac's.

Mac's breath shudders out of him. This is, by far, the hottest thing that has ever happened to him, and it's happening with a guy who usually can't stand to be in his presence for more than fifteen minutes at a time without saying something insulting. A guy who Mac himself isn't always sure he likes that much, even when he isn't pushing all of Mac's buttons.

They apparently like each other just enough, Mac decides, because he's spreading his legs and bending his knees before he's consciously decided that he's going to do so. Dalton immediately grips him by the thighs and pulls his legs up and around Dalton's waist, with another of those sounds that Mac is beginning to realize are, alarmingly, a thing that really gets him going. This sound, though, seems particularly pleased, and when Dalton goes back to kissing Mac's neck, the warm puffs of breath that hit Mac's skin come in shorter, shakier bursts than they had before.

Technically, words are exchanged at this point... but Mac wouldn't call them 'speaking'. Not for the purpose of or in the nature of conversation.

"Oh god..." stutters out of him, on the first sharp thrust of Jack's body against his at this new angle, and "Yeah, baby. That's what I'm talkin' about... " gets spoken against Mac's cheek, in that stupid, sexy drawl of Dalton's, right before he goes back to kissing Mac on the mouth.

Mac has just enough time to freak out a little, on the inside, about how good it feels to hear Jack Dalton call him 'baby' before Dalton shifts a little, somehow, slides Mac down the wall just a bit and-

" _Oh shit,_ , Jack..." leaves Mac, garbled, because Dalton is, even as Mac's lips move, nibbling at them with _purpose._

"There ya' go, Mac, " Dalton tells him, voice gone deeper and somehow even more southern as he lets Mac's lips go with a pop. He grinds his body into Mac's harder, as if getting desperate now, already, for where all of this is heading - so much so that Mac's half surprised that the rickety walls of this little shack aren't shaking with their movements.

But now - _now_ \- Mac understands what an ex-girlfriend said once about 'gravelly voices' and accents. Wedged as he is between Dalton and the wall, legs up and secure in Dalton's grip, all Mac can do is strain into Jack's thrusts, squirm, hold on tight with fingers wrapped around a corded bicep or tense forearm or Dalton's shoulders, clutching, as Jack transports him towards completion as fast as _he_ pleases. The abandon of it all is mind-blowingly satisfying, in ways that Mac had long speculated - but never gotten the opportunity to experience -a total loss of control could be.

And yet, somehow, every surge of peaking sensation that pushes Mac closer and closer to that highest peak comes not when Dalton manhandles Mac into an even better position - or demonstrates how easily he's managing to hold Mac up like this between himself and the wall, while also pushing further up that same height that Mac is scaling. It comes when Jack says things like, "That's real good, right? Yeah.. Feels damn good to me too, darlin'. "

Or: "Come on... tell me what ya' want, Mac. Ya' need me ta go faster? Tell me, baby. Wanna hear how much you want it. "

Okay, so maybe the accent's not the biggest cause to blame for the spikes of pleasure tugging Mac closer and closer to a pretty incredible orgasm. Mac almost asks if Dalton's had as much training in sex talk as he's always bragging he's had with weaponry, but the only weapon he can actually focus on at the moment is the one pressing insistently against his cock through two separate sets of clothing.

They haven't even unzipped their pants, and Mac is a breath away from coming - and then, with that thought, he's there, a cry catching in his throat before Dalton seals their mouths together to keep the sound more or less between them.

He shakes so hard, Mac's convinced that now the shack _is_ shaking with him.

"Shit... shit, didn't think, " Dalton is saying before Mac has recovered enough to make sense of the words.

"What-"

Dalton drops Mac on his feet, probably not all that abruptly - his hands on Mac are careful as they unwrap Mac's legs from around his waist - but, still shaken, to Mac the quick movements seem abrupt.

And unnecessary. Mac would hardly have expected to _cuddle_ afterwards - if he had expected any of this - but does Dalton dislike him so much that he's in this much of a hurry to get away from what they've done? Mac's stomach drops, and his tongue suddenly feels thick - which is probably for the best, so Mac doesn't say something terrible like 'Not yet' or 'Don't go' or 'You started it!' He's relatively sure that Dalton didn't even get to-

But Jack is dropping to his knees, and if Mac hadn't been able to think very clearly a moment before, he certainly can't when Dalton - still moving in short, urgent starts - makes his way quite efficiently through Mac's belt buckle and belt and the fly of Mac's fatigues...

"What are you-"

"Can't walk you back outta here all sticky and wet, dude," Dalton says - cryptically, as far as Mac's pleasure-fried brain can fathom. "Just how big of an asshole do you take me for? "

Mac has _no_ idea what Dalton is talking about. On reflex, he makes a sound of protest when Dalton pulls down his now open pants and boxer shorts, just enough to expose the mess ~~Jack's made of him~~ he's made and his cock, softer now, but still swollen and twitching with the last sensations of release.

"No, don't -" is as far as Mac's protest goes before Dalton leans forward... and licks right through the cum coating Mac's lower belly.

Actually, it goes a bit further - but shock and a sudden, surprising burst of heat in the face of Dalton's shamelessly debauched act, as powerful as a gut punch - stretch Mac's words and voice until they're unidentifiable as anything other than a moderately high-pitched squeal.

"Are- are you _fucking_ kidding me, right now?" Mac pants when he finds the breath, voice still alien in his own throat, but Jack doesn't respond other than to lick a stripe across Mac's flagging cock. 

Then he looks up at Mac, through his lashes - tongue still making its way across Mac's salty skin... and he winks.

And that-

That's it for this round of Mac trying to communicate like a human being. His head hits the wall behind him with a thunk before he realizes that he's dropped it back.

Jack Dalton made Mac come. And now he's - raunchy and daring and, weirdly, ridiculously sweet - licking Mac clean. And Mac just can't process this.

He does what he's been doing since Dalton pressed his rough lips to Mac's - what's worked for Mac so well so far: he goes with it. Leans back and lets Jack lick and _nibble_ and gently maneuver his now completely flacid cock this way and that, face burning and throat suddenly tight.

He didn't let himself think it before, but in a fleeting moment of clarity, the thought comes to Mac now - how the _hell_ is he supposed to walk out of this shack with Sergeant Dalton, presumably as if nothing's happened, with this memory of the man's touch burned into his brain?

Then Dalton carefully places Mac's cock directly on top of his tongue and closes his mouth around it, sucking Mac fully, and Mac shudders with his whole body _and_ mind, thoughts going blank.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Dalton, I can't take..., " he almost yelps, almost pushes away - contrarily reaching for Dalton - gripping the collar of his tac jacket, the back of his neck. 

Jack lets off long enough to say, "Oh, you can take it, Angus. Never seen someone ask for more so nicely, but you can take it. " And Mac can't even argue that he _hasn't_ asked for it. His body's straining towards Dalton's mouth even as they speak, into the pleasure and the pain of it, this soon after the first true orgasm he's had since the start of this tour - a release of months' worth of pent up frustration and longing and stupid biological need.

Jack's free hand is running soothing little circles into the small of Mac's back, and there's genuine warmth in his voice as he says, "I'm good for it, baby, trust me. One more."

So Mac groans, and when Jack lifts his cock again - easier this time, the flesh starting to warm and fill again - he just flexes his grip on Dalton, waits. Gives in to the unspoken request he somehow hears perfectly when Jack pauses this time and says, "Please-"

Dalton doesn't make him say any more than that.

And nothing resembling words comes out of Mac's mouth after that, for a while.

He only really comes back online when he hears the rustle of clothing and opens his eyes to see Jack fumbling with his own belt and fly, still knelt at Mac's feet, able to suck Mac hands-free now that Mac's cock has fully recovered.

Recovered with a vengeance, actually - aching and maybe one capable twist of Dalton's clever tongue away from a _second_ greatest orgasm of Mac's life.

But there's no way Mac could pass up this opportunity - even if his sense of fair play would allow it.

"Dalton... Dalton? _Jack_ , stop...," Mac begins to digress, until Jack - distracted as he is - can process that Mac is squirming away from his mouth now - not into it. "Let me."

Dalton pulls off, but the sex-dumb look he aims up at Mac as he does (another memory Mac doesn't know how he's going to take away from this and not _feel_ each time it returns to him) says he's not sure why. 

Mac drops gracelessly onto his knees. "Here-"

As close as he is, as close as they both seem to be, that's all Mac can manage, grabbing Dalton's hand and pressing it to his cock as he wraps his own hand around Jack.

It's enough. "Oh, fuck yeah..." Dalton groans, long and loud, and kind of shudders, giving Mac a moment to appreciate the weight and warmth and (fuck) size of Jack in his hand. (He knows how Jack Dalton's cock looks and feels now, and if he could just get Dalton to stand up, or he could get further down, he'd know the taste-)

Then Jack's fist _squeezes_ , and Mac's body kindly informs him that he's had his moment. He needs Jack's touch. _Now_.

"Oh, yeah... oh, yeah, Mac, baby...," Jack is muttering, whimpering. Mac starts to stroke him, and with Jack reciprocating, it's only moments more before they're both shaking through release for a final time, shooting into the dirt between them, not kissing - not coordinated enough at this moment for it - but panting so close to one another's mouths, heads practically touching, that they might as well be.

Had Mac wondered how he was going to walk out of this shack like it hadn't happened? As he regains his ability to ~~breathe~~ think past shoulders and scruff and hands and cocks, Mac wonders how he's going to look at Dalton - this second, with both their pants literally down, with cum drying in the dessert sand between them - and say something that isn't wildly at odds with everything that's been said between them before. Or, although the prospect makes something inside of Mac twist and ache more than he'd expected - even considering the attachment Mac can't ever seen to avoid feeling when he's had sex - something inconspicuously on par with the way they've always spoken to one another.

As he does far more often than the man seems to think (or than Mac is comfortable admitting), Mac watches for Jack's lead.

Which- Isn't so much leading... as the direct opposite, Mac soon realizes.

How does Dalton look at Mac after what they've just experienced together? He doesn't. He tucks his cock away and starts putting his clothing back in order, and Mac does the same, waiting all the while for the word or the ~~smile~~ smirk - or the feel of Jack's eyes on him - that will tell him how to act after having _spontaneous sex_ with someone he's never so much as shared a meal with before - or wanted to. But no such sign ever comes.

It takes Dalton being nearly done strapping on the rest of his tac - helmet on, comm still off but in his ear, rifle over his shoulder - for Mac to catch on.

He doesn't even mean to question it. He'll do that plenty over the next several... ever, Mac knows. Which is exactly why he never has sex with people he doesn't at least anticipate having a long-term romantic relationship with.

But ~~Jack~~ Dalton turns to leave, and the words just slip out of Mac : "That's it?"

Dalton doesn't even turn back around. He pauses for a second, and then - in a voice completely devoid of anything Mac had heard in it while they were _having sex_ (holy shit, what has he done?) - Dalton says, "Just don't do it again, kid. I got little more than a month left in this hellhole, and I don't wanna be taking you home with me in a box when I go."

Then he walks out.

This time, the words 'You started it' don't even fully form in Mac's mind before he realizes that Dalton isn't talking about what they just did, or threatening Mac about what will happen if he tries to initiate a round two. (Three? Whatever.) Their fight had been about a child, Mac suddenly remembers - a child Mac had let get "too" close to him out in the street Dalton's just returned to; about whether or not Mac could evaluate the threat the locals here present (yes, even the kids), or if he was just being reckless.

Apparently, Dalton's answer to the tough questions literally is to act like nothing even happened.

Mac stutters for a moment - mouth opening and closing as all the things he could say (yell, ~~accuse~~ protest) occur to and are dismissed by him. It would probably look pretty comical, if there were anyone left in the shack with him to see it.

Absentmindedly, Mac kicks up the sand stained with the evidence of their moment of madness and follows Dalton out into the sun. 

It wasn't nothing. As much as Mac had assumed, in the heat of that moment, that the only rational course of action afterwards would be a tactical disavowal of whatever mindless feelings or stray curiosities that might have led up to it - he had also assumed that he would get the opportunity to say so.

He can't say what difference it makes to have been denied that chance, as much as he'd dreaded it, but Mac feels...

Hurt? Offended? Relieved... and vaguely uncomfortable in that relief? It's not like putting off a talk about what just happened will make any of it less of a bad idea. Right?

Whatever he's feeling, what Mac ends up saying when he finally gets his mouth and tongue to work together is, "You know, I didn't just get to this 'hellhole' the day you met me, Dalton. I know how to spot a decoy. "

"Oh, for the love of- Are you really still gonna argue with me about this?"

And they're off - headed to the next bomb, in the next dusty corner of the city, and into the next forty-five minute argument about things that, strictly speaking, really don't _have_ to be argued about. The child _hadn't_ been armed, Dalton's never more than a rifle site's distance away from Mac, even if he _had_... And, on the orders of the United States' Army, Dalton never will be.

Not for the next forty-five days.

But maybe it's for the best that they _not_ talk about how much time they have left on the clock, under the circumstances.

Mac feels a sting whenever he moves a certain way - stubble burn, in places Mac's never felt a man's stubble before, seeming to whisper 'baby' in a sweet Southern drawl with every brush of Mac's clothing against his skin. Meanwhile, Dalton rolls his eyes, gives even more than he gets in this seemingly endless verbal battle they just return to, time and time again. 

The last forty-five days of Jack Dalton's very last days in the dessert stretch out before Mac, and never has such a short collection of days seemed so long.


End file.
